Today, for the first time in nearly 38 years, I saw the hospital where I was born: Madigan Army Medical Center.
I had an assignment today at Joint Base Lewis-McChord and rode past the building en route to my first ride aboard a Blackhawk helicopter. I kept thinking about the intro to "MASH" as I boarded and departed the chopper, the breath of the propeller whipping my body and the ground below. When these macho machines ascended straight up, the gust blew us off-balance as we flinched and covered our faces.
Anyway, my parents were stationed at the former Fort Lewis back in 1977-1978. I've lived in Washington for 10 years and had yet to see the hospital.
Until today.
Thursday, June 9, 2016
Monday, June 6, 2016
Good short story collection
"Close Range," by Annie Proulx: The star of this collection is "Brokeback Mountain," which was brought to the masses by Hollywood.
But it is one of the most heart-breaking tales you'll ever read. Proulx is a master of humanizing a barren Wyoming landscape and sculpting pure scenic beauty, complete with accents of local culture. Characters face hardships while living a rural lifestyle down to the bare necessities, and their resistance to the changing times is the force that fuels these lean and powerful stories.
Most people learn about Proulx through her magnum opus, "The Shipping News," which won a Pulitzer Prize for Fiction.
This story collection is another solid introduction. I am still partial to her other story collection, "Heart Songs," set in New England. The title story in "Heart Songs" follows a daydreaming drifter into an old farmhouse as a guest guitarist for a family band. These tales also focus on the conflict between rural life and the city dwellers who encroach on unspoiled land.
But it is one of the most heart-breaking tales you'll ever read. Proulx is a master of humanizing a barren Wyoming landscape and sculpting pure scenic beauty, complete with accents of local culture. Characters face hardships while living a rural lifestyle down to the bare necessities, and their resistance to the changing times is the force that fuels these lean and powerful stories.
Most people learn about Proulx through her magnum opus, "The Shipping News," which won a Pulitzer Prize for Fiction.
This story collection is another solid introduction. I am still partial to her other story collection, "Heart Songs," set in New England. The title story in "Heart Songs" follows a daydreaming drifter into an old farmhouse as a guest guitarist for a family band. These tales also focus on the conflict between rural life and the city dwellers who encroach on unspoiled land.
Sunday, June 5, 2016
Why I coached my son's flag football team
I'm the last person that some of my college buddies would imagine as a coach. But I coached my son's flag football team. There were 11 kids. We played 5 on 5. We finished in first place and we earned the top seed in the playoff game.
And we lost.
I volunteered to coach my 9-year-old William's flag football team because no one else had stepped up, and the first practice (back in March) was in a few days.
I did not play organized sports in school. I always wished I would have. Believe it or not, I was one of the smallest kids in my class and I didn't grow until the end of my sophomore year of high school. By that time, my sandlot football days had been replaced with non-sports activities like journalism and theater.
My only experience with organized sports was a two-year stint in Little League baseball when I was in the fourth and fifth grades. My parents divorced around that time, and needless to say, sports were not one of my single mother's interests or priorities. I became the man of the house and spent my afternoons looking after my little sister or fulfilling household responsibilities.
My father wasn't encouraging. Before he left our lives, he was an assistant coach for my baseball team in the fourth grade - and was a dickhead the whole time. He made me feel like I was two inches tall and he shattered my confidence in just about everything.
My fondest memory from those Little League years was hitting a game-winning triple with the bases loaded in the ninth inning. But my first memory of youth sports - for better or worse - is the way my father would glare at me and shake his head in derision if I struck out or if I swung and missed.
One time I was pitching and my shoulder muscle swelled up. I remember the coaches from both teams looking at my muscle in amazement and suggesting that I sit out. Once we got back to the dugout, my father poked me in the forehead with his stiffened index and middle fingers. It was a gesture meant to punish me - and it was utterly humiliating because he did it in front of everyone else.
I have always carried that with me and vowed long ago that things would be different with my kids.
But back to flag football in the spring of 2016. I volunteered to coach this team of 9-year-olds, and we finished in first place. I worked hard to make sure everyone got the ball and everyone got a chance to contribute. I drew up all the plays. I looked forward to each Sunday.
Today, we played our final game of the season with the winner advancing to a tournament. We lost. It was heartbreaking. After scoring at least four touchdowns every game, we were held to zero. A couple of the boys seemed to sniffle about it. But I was so proud of every kid on the team - all 11 of them. Some kids were obviously better athletes than others. I could have just given the ball to our studs every time. And yes, I was somewhat crushed when we lost that last game and blew a chance to make the tournament. I loaded my playbook with every play we had scored with, but it was the hottest damn day of the year so far. The temperatures were pushing 90 degrees, and here in the Pacific Northwest, that's damn hot. The kids seemed a little spacey, but the other team wasn't doing so well, either. We lost 14-0. Ouch.
I learned so much with this experience. One of the biggest challenges was finding a way to make sure the least-skilled kids had a chance to contribute. That's not as easy as it sounds, considering that you also want to win. We finished with a record of 5-3. Those losses were still close and competitive.
I am especially grateful for Dan, a fellow dad who coached William in soccer for four years. I followed Dan's example in a lot of ways, and it was a pleasure to coach his gifted athlete of a son on the flag football team. Dan always had control of the kids and was clear with them about what he wanted to do. They didn't always win, but the kids loved him and had fun. And that's what it's all about, right?
Whenever Dan would offer some tips during the flag football season, I took them seriously, and they worked. I didn't know what I was doing most of the time, and while I did my best, I was grateful whenever Dan would offer up a pointer or two.
One of the biggest lessons I learned was about sportsmanship. There were several situations where the kids questioned the referee's calls, and I am embarrassed about one moment where we missed a game-tying touchdown by two inches and I slammed my clipboard to the ground in frustration.
It's only a game. But it feels so good to win, and I pursued that feeling with an addict's passion. I wanted these kids to know what it feels like to win. I wanted to know too.
I'm sure the 11 kids on our team are snoozing away in bed right now and have more or less forgotten about today's loss. I'll admit it - the loss stings. I wish I could have guided the team to victory and beyond.
But I am grateful for the opportunity to show a handful of kids what it's like to win. I taught them that football is more than just throwing the bomb. I showed them that when everyone does their part, the team succeeds. They learned that when we lose, we lose as a team.
And I wouldn't want it any other way. That's the way it was meant to be.
In the big picture, I am grateful for the opportunity to do something positive for my son. I swore from the day he was born that I would be a better father than my own father ever was. Some might call it a chip on my shoulder.
I coached the team because I love my son. And when my time on this planet comes to an end, all I want people to remember is that I did the best I could for my family. I want people to remember me as a good husband and father who helped his sons grow up to be confident and well-adjusted men.
That would be the sweetest victory of all.
And we lost.
I volunteered to coach my 9-year-old William's flag football team because no one else had stepped up, and the first practice (back in March) was in a few days.
I did not play organized sports in school. I always wished I would have. Believe it or not, I was one of the smallest kids in my class and I didn't grow until the end of my sophomore year of high school. By that time, my sandlot football days had been replaced with non-sports activities like journalism and theater.
My only experience with organized sports was a two-year stint in Little League baseball when I was in the fourth and fifth grades. My parents divorced around that time, and needless to say, sports were not one of my single mother's interests or priorities. I became the man of the house and spent my afternoons looking after my little sister or fulfilling household responsibilities.
My father wasn't encouraging. Before he left our lives, he was an assistant coach for my baseball team in the fourth grade - and was a dickhead the whole time. He made me feel like I was two inches tall and he shattered my confidence in just about everything.
My fondest memory from those Little League years was hitting a game-winning triple with the bases loaded in the ninth inning. But my first memory of youth sports - for better or worse - is the way my father would glare at me and shake his head in derision if I struck out or if I swung and missed.
One time I was pitching and my shoulder muscle swelled up. I remember the coaches from both teams looking at my muscle in amazement and suggesting that I sit out. Once we got back to the dugout, my father poked me in the forehead with his stiffened index and middle fingers. It was a gesture meant to punish me - and it was utterly humiliating because he did it in front of everyone else.
I have always carried that with me and vowed long ago that things would be different with my kids.
But back to flag football in the spring of 2016. I volunteered to coach this team of 9-year-olds, and we finished in first place. I worked hard to make sure everyone got the ball and everyone got a chance to contribute. I drew up all the plays. I looked forward to each Sunday.
Today, we played our final game of the season with the winner advancing to a tournament. We lost. It was heartbreaking. After scoring at least four touchdowns every game, we were held to zero. A couple of the boys seemed to sniffle about it. But I was so proud of every kid on the team - all 11 of them. Some kids were obviously better athletes than others. I could have just given the ball to our studs every time. And yes, I was somewhat crushed when we lost that last game and blew a chance to make the tournament. I loaded my playbook with every play we had scored with, but it was the hottest damn day of the year so far. The temperatures were pushing 90 degrees, and here in the Pacific Northwest, that's damn hot. The kids seemed a little spacey, but the other team wasn't doing so well, either. We lost 14-0. Ouch.
I learned so much with this experience. One of the biggest challenges was finding a way to make sure the least-skilled kids had a chance to contribute. That's not as easy as it sounds, considering that you also want to win. We finished with a record of 5-3. Those losses were still close and competitive.
I am especially grateful for Dan, a fellow dad who coached William in soccer for four years. I followed Dan's example in a lot of ways, and it was a pleasure to coach his gifted athlete of a son on the flag football team. Dan always had control of the kids and was clear with them about what he wanted to do. They didn't always win, but the kids loved him and had fun. And that's what it's all about, right?
Whenever Dan would offer some tips during the flag football season, I took them seriously, and they worked. I didn't know what I was doing most of the time, and while I did my best, I was grateful whenever Dan would offer up a pointer or two.
One of the biggest lessons I learned was about sportsmanship. There were several situations where the kids questioned the referee's calls, and I am embarrassed about one moment where we missed a game-tying touchdown by two inches and I slammed my clipboard to the ground in frustration.
It's only a game. But it feels so good to win, and I pursued that feeling with an addict's passion. I wanted these kids to know what it feels like to win. I wanted to know too.
I'm sure the 11 kids on our team are snoozing away in bed right now and have more or less forgotten about today's loss. I'll admit it - the loss stings. I wish I could have guided the team to victory and beyond.
But I am grateful for the opportunity to show a handful of kids what it's like to win. I taught them that football is more than just throwing the bomb. I showed them that when everyone does their part, the team succeeds. They learned that when we lose, we lose as a team.
And I wouldn't want it any other way. That's the way it was meant to be.
In the big picture, I am grateful for the opportunity to do something positive for my son. I swore from the day he was born that I would be a better father than my own father ever was. Some might call it a chip on my shoulder.
I coached the team because I love my son. And when my time on this planet comes to an end, all I want people to remember is that I did the best I could for my family. I want people to remember me as a good husband and father who helped his sons grow up to be confident and well-adjusted men.
That would be the sweetest victory of all.
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